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Bitch better have my wedding ring

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Steve does get him a real ring after Christmas. He comes to pick Bucky up from work on the 29th, wearing a dark blue winter coat, a knit beanie with a bear pattern, and his tortoiseshell fake glasses. Bucky’s pretty sure Steve actually loves the glasses, no matter how much fun he makes of them.

Steve ushers him into the sleek car he’s borrowed from Stark again, and drives them to Manhattan. They leave the car in the parking hall of the Stark Tower and stroll to 5th Avenue, making their way north. The street is busy with post-holiday sales shoppers and tourists, and Steve holds Bucky’s hand tightly in his own.

Nobody seems to recognize Captain America strolling among them. The beanie and glasses help with that, but Steve’s also confident in his skin, carrying his absurd physique with ease. He’s grown more comfortable in his body in the past year Bucky’s known him, and he no longer looks like he wants to shrink and disappear when he’s in civilian clothes. He’s lost the weird dance between awkwardness and the stiff commanding posture, and now he’s relaxed and graceful, sidestepping tourists who’ve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to stare at their map.

To anybody on the street Steve’s just a well-built guy holding hands with a gorgeous nurse who’s dressed in a thousand-dollar charcoal topcoat Pepper gave him for Christmas. Steve gets some admiring looks, but no phones or cameras are pointed at their direction, which is a blessing. Bucky doesn’t take well to paparazzi after he’s been eight hours on shift.

Bucky does a double take when Steve steers him in through the door to Tiffany’s.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky asks, his voice almost a squeak. “Are you seriously getting me diamonds?”

Steve shrugs, but his smile is smug and sappy at the same time. “You said it yourself, Buck, I’m a classy guy.”

“Fuck me,” Bucky says, shaking his head a little. “The backpay’s gone to your head. Do you know how much cabbage you could buy with that money?”

Steve pinches the vulnerable spot between Bucky’s thumb and index finger. “Shuddup,” he says, but his grin is fond. “You’re my favorite damn cabbage anyway.”

Bucky opens his mouth to call Steve something ugly, but a sales attendant interrupts them, flitting to them like a well-coiffed bird.

“Welcome,” she says, giving them a polite sales smile. “I’m Alisa. How can I help you?”

“We’re looking for an engagement ring,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s left hand a little tighter.

Her gaze drops down to their clasped hands, and when she looks up, her smile is replaced by something a lot more genuine. “Congratulations,” she says, beaming. “What kind of a ring did you have in mind?”

Steve gives Bucky an expectant look, eyebrows raised.

“Uh,” Bucky says. “No huge-ass diamonds, I’m not Kim Kardashian. I can’t wear rings at work, so something that doesn’t scrape me when it's on a chain around my neck.”

The sales attendant’s smile widens a bit. She clearly thinks that Steve and Bucky are adorable. “Well then,” Alisa says and gestures them to follow her. “Our engagement ring collections are fairly flashy.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky murmurs, glaring at the eyeball-sized diamonds in a vitrine they pass. He’s exaggerating just a little.

Alisa snorts a little and covers her mouth with her hand. “If you’re planning to get a second ring when you’re wed, I’d suggest getting both from our men’s wedding band collection. Perhaps a platinum stacking ring with a single inset stone for the engagement?”

“Uh,” Bucky says, because he has no fucking idea what she means.

Alisa smiles and pulls a tray of rings from a glass cabinet. “Here, let me show you.” She holds out her hand expectantly. “If I may?”

Bucky pulls his hand out of Steve’s grip, tugs the glove off and extends his hand towards Alisa. She deftly measures his ring finger, then selects a ring from the tray. “Here,” she says. “What do you think?”

The ring she hands him is simple: a thin platinum band with one round diamond set in the middle. It’s stylish, understated. Bucky loves it.

Bucky glances at Steve and waggles his eyebrows. “Wanna do the honors, honey?”

Steve swallows as he slowly takes the ring, holds Bucky’s hand and slides the ring on his finger. They both stare down at it, astonished and a little touched. Alisa has tactfully retreated to the side, leaving them be sappy and gay alone.

Steve clears his throat. “It looks nice on you. It’s good that there’s something pretty to distract people from your ugly mug.”

“You flatter me, sweetheart,” Bucky says. “It’s almost like you forgot that you want to live with this hideous face for the rest of your life.”

Steve kisses the corner of his mouth and turns to Alisa. “We’ll take that one.”

“It’s lovely,” Alisa agrees. “We also have that same model with three inset diamonds, in case you want a matching one for the actual wedding ring.” She looks at Steve and raises her eyebrows questioningly. “How about you? Do you have a ring yet?”

“M-me?” Steve splutters. It’s adorable. Bucky kind of wants to pull out his phone and snapchat him to Sam using the glowy flower filter.

He proceeds to do exactly that.

“Yeah,” Alisa says, amused. She gives a cute little wave when she sees Bucky’s phone pointed at them. “You better not be using the dog filter with our ring in your hand, mister. That would be a travesty.”

Bucky sniggers. Alisa is fucking awesome.

Steve gets over himself and shrugs. He looks really cute with the glowy flowers. “I didn’t really think that I would actually get an engagement ring for myself. I proposed, so the traditional thing would be wearing just the eventual wedding ring.”

Sam sends back a snap of him doing a face swap with an old propaganda poster of Steve. Bucky saves it.

“Nothing about us is traditional, honey,” Bucky points out, sending an approving pineapple emoji back. “You want a ring? Get a fucking ring, baby.” He taps his chin with his left hand, pretending to look thoughtful but instead using the chance to draw Steve’s eyes back at the diamond on his finger. “You’re paying for it, though,” he adds. “If Alisa knew how crappy salary nurses get, she wouldn’t have let me in here in the first place.”

Steve makes a face. “You make it sound like I’m your sugar daddy.”

Bucky blows him a kiss and shimmies a little, showing off his new coat. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think to get me this coat for Christmas.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I promised to spend the rest of my fucking life with you, sugar, how’s that for a Christmas gift?”

“Even better, sweetpea,” Bucky says in a sappy voice and leans to kiss his cheek.

Steve smirks, then turns to Alisa. “Do you have, like, simple rings without diamonds? I’m not a very flashy guy.”

Bucky would like to call him out on his bullshit, thank you. The guy earns his dough by throwing a vibranium frisbee while dressed as the American flag, and is dating an incredibly gay fashionista. Not a flashy guy? Ha fucking ha .

“We do,” Alisa says cheerfully. She’s a good salesperson, or Steve’s just easy. She pulls out a simple platinum ring, a little wider than Bucky’s. “Your fiancé is right - ‘traditional’ engagement is going out of style, so you can totally have a ring for an engagement, or save it for the wedding, or get two rings. It’s nobody’s business but yours.”

Nice,” Steve says. Bucky knew he was secretly a magpie.

Just as Bucky glances down at his phone, he gets a snapchat message from Sam. It says just, Wait where the f u at?? Is steve in disguise???, followed by, I LOVED IT WHERES THE BEANIE FROM.

Bucky snaps a pic of his left hand and writes, take a fucking guess pal.

Sam calls him five seconds later. “ What the fuck ,” he yells into Bucky’s ear. “Is that Tiffany’s? The guy won’t buy me a fucking coffee but he gets you a diamond?”

Bucky smirks, makes some kissy noises, and hangs up.


They spend the New Year’s Eve in the Tower. When they stroll into the Avengers common floor after leaving their coats in Steve’s apartment three floors up, Sam scowls at them from the couch. He’s clearly still bitter because Steve steadfastly refuses to pay for his sugary, overpriced Starbucks drinks, complaining about the inflation. Bucky blows him a kiss.

Clint waves enthusiastically from where he’s wedged between Sam and Pepper. Bucky likes Clint a lot, because he’s a goddamn mess, and Bucky loves messes. Steve’s a prime example of that.

“Steve, your collar is crooked,” Natasha remarks idly from the kitchen island. “Hi, Barnes.”

Bucky turns to look, and yeah, she’s right. Apparently Steve didn’t really check the mirror after they necked a little in the elevator.

When Bucky corrects Steve’s collar with both hands, Pepper suddenly lets out a loud, piercing shriek. “Oh my god,” she yells, making most of them jump a little.

“Ow,” Clint says, rubbing his ear and looking like he’s debating whether or not to turn his hearing aid off. “I think I just got a little deafer.”

“Is that an engagement ring?” Pepper yells, and every head in the room swivels towards Bucky in unison. It’s a little creepy.

“Yeah,” Steve beams. “I’m gonna try and make an honest man out of this idiot.”

“You’re thirty years late, darling,” Bucky remarks dryly.

“Psh,” Steve says and waves it away. “You’re just a cynic. Watch out, you’ll catch the romance and turn into a bridezilla.”

“I think you mean groomzilla,” Tony pipes in. “Or can we start calling him Mrs Rogers?”

Bucky turns his best unimpressed, eat-shit face towards him. Tony actually shrinks a little, which is a first. “You know, Stark,” Bucky says. “Maybe we’ll have the band play ‘Rains of Castamere’ at the wedding. I’ve always liked that song.”

Stark pales in a very appealing way.

Clint whistles a little. “Harsh, man.”

“Shut up everybody,” Pepper orders. “Bucky, get over here, I want to see your ring.”

Bucky shrugs and sits down on the coffee table, extending his hand. Sam is still looking wounded, throwing mock-hurt glances at Steve, but leans in to look at the ring too.

“It’s lovely,” Pepper says, eyeing the ring so blatantly that she probably hopes Stark would get her another one, even though they’re already married. “When’s the wedding?”

“May, probably,” Steve says. “‘S gonna be a small affair. Bucky has some family and like two friends outside of the Avengers.”

“At least my two friends are completely sane and normal,” Bucky retorts, and Clint sniggers.

“Dibs on being Steve’s best man,” Tony yells. The sound is a little muffled by the fridge he’s stuck his head in.

“Uh, excuse you,” Sam says before Steve can reply. “He’s my homeboy and totally asked me already, so I’m gonna be the best babe of honor.”

Tony pouts a little, uncapping a fancy microbrew bottle. “You knew about Mr and Mrs Rogers already? And didn’t tell us?”

Sam points at Steve, who’s just flopped down in a huge armchair and is gesturing for Bucky to come over with a dumb, lovestruck expression on his face. “Look at him,” Sam says. “Do you think Steve’s capable of keeping any sappy secret from me?”

They all regard Steve critically for a couple of seconds while Bucky gets up from the coffee table and goes to Steve.

“I see your point,” Tony allows.

“Dibs on Barnes,” Natasha calls from behind the kitchen island.

“Aw, Nat, no,” Clint says, pouting. “Bucky likes me best, I want to be his best man.”

“You’re both fucking ruled out,” Bucky says and lets Steve pull him down onto his lap. “I already have a maid of honor who’s none of you, this group is already way too inbred.” He considers for a second. “Clint can be the flower girl, though.”

“Wohoo!” Clint fistpumps and almost accidentally punches Sam who ducks just in time. “Oops, sorry, Sam.”

“Language of flowers doesn’t include punching, man,” Sam grumbles.

“No,” Natasha agrees and scritches her nails through Clint’s short hair as she passes them on her way to the bathroom. Clint does a weird, happy wiggle and slouches further into the couch. “But maybe Clint’s fluent in the sign language of flowers. Nothing says ‘tender thoughts’ like a bluebell and a punch.”

Bucky looks down at Steve’s shitty little grin and the diamond on his own finger, and wonders briefly if it’s too late to call off the whole wedding.


Two hours later, Bucky’s trapped in one of the most horrifying conversation in his whole life.

“I would like to make the cake for the wedding,” Vision says.

Bucky gives him a smile that’s just borderline fake. “Uh, thank you but there’s no need for that.”

“I insist,” Vision says standing there in his suburban dad sweater and khakis. Bucky’s pretty sure he’s been digging through Steve’s leftover wardrobe from when he got out of ice.

"Vision," Bucky says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're really cool, but seriously, you're a fucking levitating robot alien thing, you can't taste stuff for shit. I still can't feel my fucking ears from the amount of chili you put in the soup you made two weeks ago."

Wanda sniggers behind Vision. Bucky likes her.

“Oh,” Vision says, and looks like he’s considering something. His person-imitating gestures are really unnerving. “I understand. I am still debating whether kiwi would go better with pork, or white fish.”

Bucky can feel his smile get brittle around the edges. “Uh, nice. Try the pork? Just leave our cake alone.”

Vision looks like he’s already rubbing the little hairs on kiwis on a whole gutted pig. Bucky retreats slowly away, until he bumps against Steve’s flank and turns into another abhorrent discussion about the wedding.

“Marigold garlands,” Bruce says seriously while Steve nods, looking uncomfortable. “Very traditional in Indian weddings. I’d be happy to get you them.”

“The fucking what,” Bucky says as Steve wraps his arm around him and gratefully squeezes him close. The gesture feels like Steve’s been too polite to say no to Bruce, which isn’t surprising.

Bruce blinks. “Marigold garlands,” he repeats. “We were talking about flowers for the wedding.”

“Marigold,” Bucky says. “With Steve’s complexion?”

Bruce blinks again. Steve’s expression is mildly panicked, like he’s trying to hold his laughter.

Bucky reaches out, grabs the end of Bruce’s orange scarf and holds it against Steve’s face. “Look at him! Is this a face for orange?” he asks, shaking the scarf. “You get us orange flowers, and Steve won’t be getting any on the wedding night. You want to do that to him?”

Bruce puts his hands up, then very carefully extracts the scarf from Bucky’s grip, and backs slowly away.

After that, Bucky explicitly bans every single Avenger from participating in the wedding planning except Sam, and Pepper who isn’t an Avenger and actually has some class (and Stark’s credit card).


When Bucky calls his mom on the New Year’s Day to tell the happy news, she asks, “Who’s gonna pay for the wedding, son? I invested all our money on outer space mining, because we thought we’d never have to give a single penny for another wedding. You were supposed to be the least marketable child I have, you swear too fucking much.”

“Well, it’s good thing that Steve cares only about my hot body and not about what comes out of my mouth,” Bucky retorts.

“He probably does care about what comes in your mouth, though,” his mom says, and Bucky snorts coffee up his nose. Fuck, he loves his mom.

“I’m so happy for you, baby,” mom says then, and her voice is softer, like she’s smiling. “You two will be insufferable, and maybe also accidentally take over the world together, and I will cheer on the sidelines like any half-drunk mother and mother-in-law should.”

“You’re not drunk, mom, it’s fucking half past one in the afternoon,” Bucky says.

“No,” mom agrees cheerfully. “But I could be. Give Steve our love, will you? And for the love of god, make Stark pay for the wedding, I wasn’t kidding about the asteroid mining.”


When Bucky strolls into the Avengers common room on Valentine’s day, Steve in tow, Stark takes one look at him and yells, “Mr Rogers, what the fuck?”

Bucky feigns confusion, looking back at Steve. “What’ve you done how, hon?”

Steve shrugs, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “Dunno, baby.”

“No, Jackie, I’m talking about you,” Stark says, exasperated, waving his arms. “What are you wearing?”

Bucky glances down. Joggers, check. Black padded bomber jacket with a floral pattern resembling Russian babushka scarves, check. Huge, black woollen scarf, check. Wayfarers, check. Topknot, check. Incredible, studded leather visor he found from his closet, check.

“Something comfy and amazing,” he replies, shrugging.

“I kinda like it,” Clint says as he shuffles closer to peer at Bucky’s outfit, clutching the coffee pot and looking half-asleep. Bucky pats him on the head as thanks.

“I’m banning Mr Rogers from the Tower for this week just because of that outfit,” Stark says and points at the door. “Get out, losers.”

“Gladly,” Bucky drawls. “Instead of this boring brunch, we’re gonna go have sex.”

“TMI,” Tony says, scowling. Bucky blows him a kiss, and drags Steve away. Natasha gives them thumbs up from where she’s lounging on the couch, wearing fuzzy socks and an Adidas tracksuit, and looking like the world’s classiest gopnitsa. Bucky side-eyes the tracksuit subtly as the elevator doors close.

The next day Bucky saunters to the Tower in the exact same outfit for his range date with Clint and Sam. Tony points at him from the breakfast bar, his finger shaking with determination. “What part of ‘banned for a week’ you didn’t understand, Florence Nightingale? Why is that BDSM club headgear back in my Tower?”

Bucky shrugs. “Clint and Sam called me to shoot stuff. Steve’s home, don’t worry.”

“What?” Tony looks like he’s drunk a whole bottle of Fernet-Branca for breakfast.

“Well,” Bucky drawls, waving at Clint who’s limping towards him, clearly still suffering from whatever dumpster he was thrown last night. “You banned Mr Rogers from the Tower. As far as I know, my name is still Barnes, and since my goddamn life doesn’t revolve around Steve, I’m not taking his suburban dad surname.”

Sam and Clint start to snigger while Tony just points at them, his mouth open in baffled rage.

“I can think of something that revolves around Steve.” Sam leers at him, eyebrows wiggling. “Or more exactly, his dick.”

“Ass pun,” Clint says, delighted. “Holy shit, Sam made an ass pun.”

Bucky high-fives them both. Tony screeches a little.


“I think I need to come out of the closet,” Steve says one morning in late February, as he stares down at his phone, frowning. “TMZ says I’ve been spotted being intimate with Rihanna last night.”

“Well, last time I checked, I wasn’t Rihanna, even though I look a million damn times better in camo than her,” Bucky replies, and puts an omelet down in front of Steve. “But I do recall having my dick in your mouth last night.”

Steve shoots him a fond, grateful look, and pokes at this food. “Rihanna has nothin’ on you, Buck,” he agrees like a good boyfriend. “But maybe I should come out, anyway.”

“If you want to,” Bucky says, uncharacteristically unsure, and puts the spatula down. “You know I’d never ask you to do that for me, right?”

Steve’s expression softens further, and he reaches for Bucky. Bucky turns the stove off and climbs onto Steve’s lap, lets Steve cup his face with both hands.

“Of course I do, you fucking dumbass,” Steve says. “But it’s been a long time coming, and since I’m marrying this incredible guy in the spring, I think it’s time to get TMZ and Fox News both off my back.”

“Oh my god, you fucking sap,” Bucky says and sniffles.


“So, Steve,” Ellen DeGeneres says two weeks later. “We’ve heard some rumours that you’ve settled down. Can you give us any insider hints?”

“It’s true,” Steve says, scratches his head a little, chuckles. The audience cheers.

Steve’s a lot better actor than people give him credit for, Bucky thinks. He’s sitting in the audience because no way he was not gonna witness this in person, surrounded by people who stare at Steve with heart eyes. Steve has that aw-shucks-I’m-endearing act down to pat. The audience is practically eating from his hand, unknowing that in real life he’s the worst little shit in the whole goddamn country.

Steve grins at the audience. “I’m actually getting married later this year, so yeah, you can call that settling down.”

The audience cheers a little louder. A lot of people glance at their neighbours with the sappiest conspiratory ain’t-that-nice smiles Bucky’s ever seen.

“Congratulations!” Ellen says in that weird tone where it’s never clear whether she’s being sincere or not. Bucky’s been practising it for a long time. “Can you tell us anything about your super secret bae?”

“Well, I’m probably gonna get decked for using this name instead of the preferred one, but,” Steve says, and takes a deep breath, “his name is James.”

There’s a shocked silence. Then the audience pretty much explodes, and even Bucky feels a little choked up, especially when Steve’s eyes scan the crowd and stop at him for the briefest of moments.

Bucky is so gonna deck him for that name, though.


Donald Trump tweets that Captain America getting gay married is ‘a disgrace’. Stark tweets back that Trump’s presidency is a disgrace. Bucky and Steve get more popcorn and canoodle on the couch, reading the shitstorm. #CaptainGaymerica and #BaldEagleOfSexualFreedom are trending.

They get an otp tag on Tumblr.


Bucky’s identity is leaked to the press pretty soon after the show airs, likely by some dickbag at the hospital who’s put two and two together and figured out who Bucky’s buff boyfriend Steve really is, and with that come the assholes.

A week after the show, Bucky gets stopped on the way to the supermarket by a sly reporter, who thrusts a mic in his face and asks if it’s true that Captain America’s husband-to-be is a nurse. He almost sneers as he says the word, and the camera does a very unflattering pan-down at Bucky’s Ivy Park leggings, light-up sneakers, leather jacket, and denim shirt that’s actually Steve’s.

Bucky’s been on shift for twelve hours and he’s outside because Steve jetted off to Turkmenistan and forgot to get food for Bucky before leaving. He’s really, really not in the fucking mood for this.

“Yeah,” he drawls. “I’m that nurse who sews guys like you back together when you’ve hit your head on the sink because you were so drunk that you couldn’t piss without falling down. And guess what? I don’t give a fuck if you were drunk or in a car accident, because I treat every patient like a person instead of acting to my fucking prejudice.”

He totally flips his sunglasses down to his nose from his forehead for the dramatic effect, because Bucky’s the first one to admit that he’s a goddamn drama queen. “It’s 2018, pal,” he says. “And I’m an Army vet, a nurse, and still better dressed than you. So wake the fuck up and go rethink your life choices and your fragile masculinity. Fuckity bye.”

He saunters off before the cameraman has stopped laughing at the dumbstruck expression on the reporter’s face.

Three million points to Slytherin, pal.

When Bucky wakes up after thirteen hours of sleep, he finds out that he’s become an internet sensation. His uncensored rant has almost a million views on Youtube, and Tumblr is filled with gifs of him doing the fucking sunglass flip, or extreme close-ups of his ass as he swaggers off.

He’s been hashtagged as #the hero (captain) america deserves, #my presh drama bean, #otp: his name is james, #nursepride, #iconic, #saltier than dead sea, and #ass of freedom. Somebody’s made an aesthetic moodboard of him. There’s already a gif of him with the ‘deal with it’ meme added. His instagram has gotten eight thousand new followers.

Steve’s sent a 10-second snapchat of him cupping his hard dick through the obscenely tight compression leggings he wears under the Cap suit. Saw your interview, doll, the caption says, followed by eggplant and peach emojis. Bucky’s in love with a goddamn 1930s fuckboy.

Bucky sends back a snap of his lazy, boxer brief-clad sprawl on their woefully empty king-sized bed, and captions it, somebody called me a presh drama bean online. Then he rolls over, inches his briefs down enough that the swell of his ass is exposed, takes a snap over his shoulder, and writes, the fuck is a presh bean anyway. get home already, you kinky fuck.

Steve sends back just a googly eyes emoji, and a promise to be home by the evening.

Fourteen thousand new people have liked Bucky’s pic of his hairdo from a couple of days ago. Bucky feels oddly accomplished.


On the first of April, Bucky throws his breakfast up, and then just keeps vomiting. His immune system is usually made of steel, so it’s the first time he’s actually been sick since they started dating, and Steve’s nearly panicking, his hands flitting nervously on Bucky’s back.

“Remember the fucking weird dream I had on Boxing day?” Bucky rasps when the nausea passes a little. He’s still hugging the toilet just in case, wishing really hard that he had a glass of passion fruit juice, and a pillow under his knees. The tiling of the bathroom floor is really hard.

Steve frowns thoughtfully, and then his eyes go round and huge. He looks like a snotty white boy who’s just heard what having periods actually means. “Uh,” he says, but his voice is high and terrified. “Guys can’t get pregnant.”

“That’s what we thought in my dream too,” Bucky points out.

Steve looks like he’s ready to jump out of the bathroom window, but can’t, because he’s holding Bucky’s hair. Bucky lets him squirm for a couple of seconds more, until a fresh wave of nausea hits.

“April Fools,” Bucky says and throws up again. “It’s just a stomach bug.”

Steve swears a blue streak at him, but spends the next three days doting on Bucky and following every wish he croaks from his blanket nest.

Steve 100% deserved that scare for calling him James on national television, though.


By the beginning of May, Pepper has pretty much single-handedly arranged the wedding with Sam’s invaluable help, and under Bucky’s watchful but overworked eyes. Bucky’s been to two weddings, both his sisters’, but he knows absolutely nothing about how to arrange one, and work has been ridiculous (fuck budget cuts. Seriously, fuck them), so he’s more than glad to give the reins to somebody else.

He even trusts Sam with the color scheme, because when Pepper suggested mauve, Sam put his foot down, said hell the fuck no, and pulled out a pretty much perfect set of dark blue, plum, and powder pink. Bucky appreciates a man who doesn’t shy away from his pastels.

Becca is Bucky’s maid of honor, but since she’s pregnant and living in Massachusetts, all she does before the actual wedding is to send in demands that Bucky’s tux absolutely fucking has to have leather details, and that nobody brings a karaoke machine in. Bucky’s dad can sing a killer Aretha Franklin, but their younger sister Alice has an unhealthy obsession with karaoke and the voice of a turkey.

Steve mostly just hangs along on the ride, fights about flowers with Sam, pipes in with his comments about the other stuff, and gives Bucky head rubs when the hospital gets even more insufferable than normally. He’s being a good sport about the whole wedding, looking like the heart eyes emoji whenever it’s brought up, and agreeing with Pepper and Sam on most things. Steve even lets Bucky order a dark blue tux for him, because he knows how much Bucky likes the stealth suit that he wears for the black ops.

“Alright,” Bucky says two weeks before the wedding, as he comes through the front door holding a garment bag. “I got my tux, do you want to see?”

Steve frowns at him from the kitchen island. “Am I allowed to do that? Is it bad luck?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at him. “Yes, hon, I’m not your goddamn bride. Besides, I look bomb as hell in it, and you better get it out of your system unless you want to pop a boner at the wedding.”

Steve sniggers and makes a go ahead gesture with his hand. “Bring it on, Barnes.”

He doesn’t laugh anymore when Bucky emerges from the bedroom wearing the holy-fucking-shit-ton-of-dollars Tom Ford tux that’s been tailored into absolute perfection. Their tuxedos are an early wedding present from Pepper and Stark, and it’s the most expensive thing Bucky’s ever worn.

It’s worth every single fucking hundred-dollar seam to see how Steve’s eyes bulge out a little as they trace the sharp cuts of the suit, draping lovingly over Bucky’s body; the leather details in the lapels and cuffs. Bucky suddenly feels both smug and alarmingly teary, and he hides how Steve’s expression makes his throat tighten by turning around and showing off the trousers’ incredible tailoring. Steve makes a strangled sound behind him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve says.

“That sounds like the self-cest fanfic I read two weeks ago,” Bucky says, but then Steve’s pressing up behind him, mindful of the expensive suit, and turning him around again.

Steve cups his face, looking like the protagonist of every sappy power ballad music video out there, and says, “You look incredible, baby. I’m the luckiest fucking schmuck in the world to get to marry you.”

“Shut it,” Bucky says and kisses him, nice and long. He can feel Steve’s boner through the suit and the sweatpants Steve’s wearing. “How about we go practise how to get this tux off fast but without ruining it?”

“Now you’re talking,” Steve says, already a little flushed, so Bucky slides his hand down Steve’s pants to circle Steve’s dick with his fingers, and uses it to tug him back to the bedroom.

Turns out that Steve can strip the tux off in twenty seconds flat and have it hanged in fifteen, if there’s any promise of Bucky getting down on his knees as soon as it’s done.


Stark wants to throw Steve a bachelor party. Knowing him, it’s probably gonna be filled with strippers and booze, and Steve’s looking sour when Bucky tells him to go.

“He means well,” Bucky says diplomatically as he puts leftovers in the fridge. It’s a rare occasion: they’ve both been home for dinner, and Steve’s even cooked. He makes a really mean stir-fry, but that’s pretty much the extent of his cooking skills.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that about Tony,” Steve snorts from where he’s drying the dishes.

Bucky shrugs and bumps the fridge door closed with his hip. “Hey, I can fucking act like a civilized person once in a while.”

“Whatever you say, doll,” Steve says fondly, before his expression turns a little sour again. “Tony and I don’t have similar ideas about ‘fun time with the boys’.”

“Dunno,” Bucky drawls. “Stark does seem kinda fixated on my ass.” He boosts himself up to sit on the counter next to Steve and plucks the frying pan out of Steve’s hands, setting it aside.

Steve barks out a laugh, moving to stand between Bucky’s knees. “I’m just not very interested in watching the others get drunk at a strip club.” He smirks a little. “Mostly because I know my fella looks better naked than any of the strippers.”

“Damn right,” Bucky says, grabs the hem of his own t-shirt and starts to pull it up slowly, drawing Steve’s gaze down to his body. “And I bet I can also put on a better show for you than any of them. I’m hella flexible, and you know it.”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says, his eyes dark and wanting, and circles Bucky’s waist with his broad hands, skimming Bucky’s abs with his thumbs. Bucky pulls off his shirt and loops it around Steve’s neck, yanking him down into a kiss.

He does put on a pretty damn good show for Steve, even if he says so himself.


Steve still complains when he actually has to go to the bachelor party.

Clint is on medical and hopped up on painkillers, so he and Bucky eat pizza and watch Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind in the Stark Tower. Steve keeps sending pics of his bored expression and Sam’s increasingly hilarious drunkenness from the club, and trying to sext, but the results are a little sad. Bucky sends back a video of Clint getting philosophical over the end of the world.

“Your skin is really good,” Clint slurs somewhere in the middle of the movie, patting Bucky’s cheek. “How is your skin so good? You’re glowing, man. Are you pregnant?”

“No,” Bucky says, “but Steve’s spunk is magic.”

Clint squints at him for a moment like he’s trying to decide whether Bucky’s joking or not. Then his eyes widen a little in awe, and he whispers, “Super spunk. That’s why your teeth are so white and your hair is so amazing.”

Bucky smirks at him, and Clint pokes his face again, thankfully with the hand not covered in pizza grease and tomato sauce.

“Can it heal wounds?” Clint asks, trying really hard to make his eyes focus on Bucky. “Steve heals stupidly fast.” His eyes go even rounder. “Oh my god, are you gonna live forever by Steve’s super jizz?

Bucky pats him on the head. “See you in 2090, sweetpea.”

Clint makes a happy sound at the pet name, successfully distracted, and turns back to the tv, but after a moment Bucky hears him murmur in an awestruck voice, “Super spunk.”


The next morning in the common kitchen, a very hungover-looking Tony squints at Bucky, looking really suspicious. “You really do have great skin,” he says in a tone that belies that he’s been talking to Clint.

“Relationship perks,” Bucky says, finishes pouring his coffee, and heads to the elevator to go back to bed.

“Magic spunk, Bruce,” Tony whispers behind him. “How do I get some?”

Don’t try to sleep with Steve,” Bruce says tiredly. “Also, go the fuck to bed.”


Bucky’s own bachelor party consists of his two non-superhero friends taking him out for beers and falafel pitas, because they’re old and jaded and can’t hold their alcohol very well anymore.

“Look at you,” Leah says, leaning back in her chair and pointing at Bucky with her overpriced shitty beer. Somehow their regular falafel joint has become cool, and the prices have skyrocketed. Bucky used to stand out like a sore thumb in the middle of second-generation Mediterranean immigrants shoveling matbuha in their mouths, but now he’s blending in. Fuck you, Tripadvisor.

“Please do,” Bucky replies and re-crosses his legs obnoxiously, showing off his flexibility. It draws some interested looks from the nearby tables, and secretly Bucky’s a little pleased that engaged or not, he can still grab attention. “I’m the only guy in this place who can get away with wearing space leggings.”

Leah rolls her eyes at him. “True,” she admits. “But look at you. Wouldn’t have guessed the day when James fucking Barnes gets married would actually come.”

“Yup,” Ivan agrees, patting Bucky’s thigh. “We’ve come a long way from the guy who could bring every available gay man in New York to their knees just because he could dance the Single Ladies choreography flawlessly.”

Bucky swats at Ivan’s hand. “Fuck you, Olegovich. You say that like I still couldn’t do it if I wanted.”

Ivan waggles his eyebrows at him. “But now there’s just one guy you wanna bring to his knees?”

“Duh,” Bucky replies and digs into his tabbouleh. There’s a comfortable silence as they stuff their faces.

“Are you scared, Bucky?” Leah asks then, because they’re Bucky’s friends for more than just shitty commentary and inappropriate memories about Bucky’s thigh work. “It’s a pretty big thing, to actually marry someone, even if you’ve been living together.”

“A little,” Bucky admits, poking at the last falafel on his plate. “But I love Steve, and it’s gonna make bureaucracy easier, and I really want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Loving somebody is always scary,” Ivan muses. “But that’s what makes it so good, to give yourself into somebody else’s hands, no matter how damn terrifying it is.”

“Holy shit, you sap,” Leah says fondly, and finishes off her beer. A guy dressed in three layers of plaid comes over to ask for Bucky’s phone number, and Leah waves him to go away. “Don’t bother, son. He’s getting married next week, and you’re not even halfway to his league.”

The guy backs away, still throwing longing glances towards Bucky’s legs. Bucky waves goodbye to him with his left hand, to make sure that his ring is noticed.

Ivan shakes his head as he inhales the last of his food. “Man, Tripadvisor really fucked us over.” He pushes the empty plate away. “Hey, wanna go to my place to watch Planet Earth and eat B&J? I have two tubs of blueberry fro-yo.”

“God, yes,” Bucky and Leah say in unison, because they’re boring fucks and proud of it.

All three of them cry at baby polar bears, and Steve just laughs when he comes to pick Bucky up, because Bucky’s eaten too much fro-yo and feels like puking.

It’s an excellent bachelor party.


Bucky’s parents and his younger sister Alice arrive in town the night before the wedding, but it’s late enough that Steve, Bucky, Sam, and Becca with her husband Louis have already driven to the wedding venue. Bucky loves his parents, but he much rather spends the last night getting a foot rub from Steve and playing Trivial Pursuit. They’re getting married in Montauk, where Stark Industries apparently owns an old-fashioned villa - it seemed fitting, considering the first time Bucky ever spoke to Steve.

Sam is unfairly good at Trivial Pursuit and beats them all, but he also eyes Rebecca’s baby bump with almost holy respect and tells her how fucking metal she is for growing a kid inside her, so he’s forgiven. Becca likes to be called hardcore, and Bucky likes when Becca is happy.

“Last night as a free man,” Steve says in a teasing tone as they’re getting ready for bed. “You got plans?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, pulling his sweater off and shimmying out of his skinny jeans. “Louis and I are gonna go to the sickest club in Montauk, and I’m gonna fuck my way through this whole fucking town before sunrise. You’ll find me in the morning from the beach with my left shoe missing, weed in my ear, and somebody else’s spunk on my t-shirt. You’re not invited.”

Steve snorts. It’s a really unflattering sound, and Bucky loves it like crazy. “Really,” Steve says in a bright voice, slipping into bed and stretching his arm out in invitation. “Nice coincidence. Sam was supposed to take me to a rave in East Hampton. Heard there was gonna be drugs, and an orgy with guys dressed as USO chorus girls.”

Bucky snorts too as he goes to turn off the lights. Judging from the look Steve gives him from the bed, Steve feels the same about his ugly snorting as Bucky does about Steve’s.

“Sounds fancy,” Bucky replies, crawling under the covers and pressing himself against Steve’s flank. “Too bad that you haven’t been a free man since the day you tried to suck my soul through my mouth on 8th Avenue, and neither have I.”

Steve laughs and wraps his arms around Bucky, stroking his warm hand down Bucky’s back. “The best day of my life,” he says. “Right after the time I punched Adolf Hitler.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky says. “You’re welcome to prance out and take your fucking USO tights with you, if you see marrying me and knocking out a fake Hitler in Milwaukee as equally good things.”

“Mm-hm,” Steve agrees, and slides his hand into Bucky’s underwear to cup his ass. “You have better ass than he did, anyway. Wanna fool around?”

“Sexy,” Bucky says drily and burrows closer. “No, I don’t. One of us is gonna look great while getting married tomorrow, and it’s not you, so shut the fuck up and let me have my beauty sleep.”

Steve laughs at him and kisses his hair, and they fall asleep like that, Steve’s hand still down Bucky’s pants.


“So,” Rebecca says the next morning, eyeing Bucky critically as he’s sitting in front of the mirror, dressed only in an undershirt and the tux pants. “You got everything? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, the whole shebang?”

Bucky wiggles his left had at her. “Old rings, if you count six months as old,” he says. “New tux. Thor’s hair clip, as soon as he arrives.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “And the blue?”

“Do you really want to know?” Bucky asks back, but dips a thumb into the waistline of his trousers and pushes it down just enough so that Becca can get a glimpse of the blue, lacy underwear he’s wearing.

Becca whistles. “Hoo boi,” she says, because she spends way too much time on the Internet. “You planning to kill Steve?”

“I plan to get him to kill me with his dick, but close enough.” Bucky turns back to the mirror and inspects his reflection critically. His skin looks really good. “Have you seen Thor? He promised to do my hair.”

Thor appears out of nowhere not five minutes later. “Bucky!” he exclaims. “I’m greatly pleased that the weather is on the side of your happy celebration! I have come bearing gifts, and am honoured to perform this most noble task.”

“It’s just hair,” Bucky says, lying through his teeth. His hair is never ‘just hair’.

Thor smiles at him. “It is fine hair,” he agrees, “and I have asked the council of the highest Asgardian healers how their traditional braidings are done. You shall stand amongst the mightiest of them, as you should, as the healer of Midgardians and the keeper of the good Captain’s heart.”

Bucky’s throat feels a little thick. “Thanks, Thor,” he says. “Let’s get down to business, huh?”

Thor busies himself with Bucky’s hair. He’s insanely fast, and when he’s done, Bucky openly gapes at himself from the mirror. His hair looks stunning: it’s braided back from his left temple in the most intricate ways, varying in thickness and pattern, and the rest is curling down on the right side in soft, chestnut waves. Bucky doesn’t know how the hell Thor did it, but it looks fucking rad.

“Holy shit,” Bucky says, blinking. “That’s-- that’s fucking amazing.”

Thor grins at him in the mirror, looking proud of himself. “It does look amazing, friend Bucky,” he says, and pulls a silvery, flower-shaped hair pin from the folds of his cape. “I have been granted use of this from the head of the Healing House on Asgard. She sends her regards and wishes for your happiness to last for three lifetimes and more.” He clips the adornment carefully in the back of Bucky’s head, where the braids meet each other, and secures it tightly.

Becca is standing on the side of the room, her hands over her mouth, looking stunned and a little teary. “Shit, Bucky,” she says in a weak voice. “You-- you look incredible.”

Bucky swallows around the thickness in his throat, and pats Thor on the arm as thanks as he gets up from the chair and reaches for his dress shirt. “Wait until you see the tux,” he says. “Steve is gonna die.”


They’re meeting the guests together before the ceremony starts, and Steve does look like somebody hit him with a wrecking ball when Bucky walks down the stairs to the lobby, escorted by Becca and Thor. Even Sam is gaping openly, standing behind Steve’s right shoulder.

Thor waves at Steve, beaming like the sun. “Steven! Happy wedding day, my friend! Your groom comes with the blessing of my people, and I wish the best for you both!”

“Jesus fuck,” Sam says, blinking, then waves a hand in front of Steve’s face. “Steve, Steve, are you breathing?”

Steve closes his mouth and swallows, his eyes still glued to Bucky, and Bucky feels himself flush a little under the weight of his gaze. Steve looks golden and gorgeous in the dark blue tux that clings to his ridiculous physique, and Bucky’s a little loss with words at the sight of him.

Steve swallows again, and says, “Holy fucking shit.”

“My sentiment exactly,” Bucky replies, his voice a little weak, and Steve takes his hand, kissing his fingers.

“You’re gorgeous, baby,” Steve says softly, grinning with his nose all scrunched up like he’s trying to hide tears. “What the hell did Thor do to your hair?”

Bucky shrugs, pleased as punch. “Asgardian magic, probably.”

Thor laughs and claps his huge hands down on Steve and Bucky’s shoulders. “Mere braiding, but love and happiness are indeed the greatest magic.”

“Damn,” Sam says and sniffles a little. “If I ever get married, I want Thor to give a speech. He’d probably make even my mom cry, and she’s a hardass.”


Bucky’s mom bursts into tears pretty much the second she lays her eyes on Bucky, who’s waiting for them in the lobby with Becca. Steve’s already in the ballroom where the ceremony is happening, entertaining the guests with Sam and possibly getting a clumsy pep talk from Clint. Bucky’s family is late because his dad couldn’t find the tie pin that was in his pocket and searched for it for twenty minutes.

“Mom, shit, calm down,” Alice says, but she’s openly staring at Bucky, too, her eyes round and huge and a little wet. “Damn, Bucky, you sure clean up nicely.”

“Yup,” Bucky says. “I even showered.”

Alice punches him in the arm, and then mom’s hugging him tightly.

“Oh my baby,” she says as she pulls back and pats him on the cheek. “Look at you! Three daughters married! Oh, Mr Bennet, God has been very good to us!”

Becca and Alice groan in unison.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a superhero in possession of a good fortune and a shitty attitude must be in want of a fabulous husband,” Bucky agrees drily.

“Oh my fucking god,” Bucky’s dad says, rolling his eyes, as Becca groans again, and Mom starts to snicker. Dad leans in to grab Bucky’s shoulder and pull him in a hug. “Congrats, kid. You did well.”

“I’m not even married yet,” Bucky reminds him. “But hell yeah I did.”

Dad snorts, and then Mom’s pulling him away, saying, “Steve! Where’s Steve, I absolutely need to go thank him for ending your raunchy bachelor life.”

Bucky, his sisters, and Alice’s wife Marissa all stare after them. Then Becca shakes her head and says, “This whole family is a bunch of crazy assholes.”

Bucky snorts, sounding frighteningly much like his dad, because where is the lie. “Well, Steve’s gonna fit in splendidly.”

Becca links her arm with Bucky’s, and they head to the ballroom. Pepper’s goons have done amazing job at decorating the place, and Bucky’s incredibly grateful to see the chairs filled up: there aren’t many guests, but they’re all people close to him and Steve.

“Wait,” Marissa says suddenly, squinting towards the seats. When Bucky follows her gaze, he sees nothing unusual: Tony is lounging across three chairs, making faces at Bruce and wearing a suit that probably cost more than Bucky will make in his whole life. “Is that Tony Stark? Why is he at your wedding, Bucky?”

Bucky, Alice, and Rebecca all turn to look at her slowly, with identical what-the-fuck expressions on their faces.

“Honey,” Alice says, looking like she wants to check Marissa’s forehead for fever. “You do know that Bucky’s marrying Captain America, right?”

Becca points wordlessly to the other side of the room, where Steve’s been intercepted by their mother. Mom’s linked her arm with Steve’s and looks like she’s talking mile a minute. The last time Bucky and Steve flew to Indiana was for Thanksgiving, and their visit was cut short because Steve had to dash off to save Portland from doombots.

Mom had been devastated: she loves Steve more than reruns of West Wing or a good glass of Sauvignon Blanc, which is a lot when it comes to their mother. Some days Bucky suspects that she loves Steve more than she loves Bucky. He doesn’t blame her. Steve’s a crazy fuck, but everybody should still be besotted by him.

Steve looks up, like he can sense when he’s being watched, and quirks a soft, happy smile at Bucky and his sisters. He looks fucking incredible in his tux. Bucky can’t wait to peel him out of it.

“Oh,” Marissa says, a little faintly. “I always thought you were joking.”

“I don’t joke about that ass,” Bucky tells her. “Just ignore Stark, he’s only here for the food.”


“I didn’t really prepare a speech,” Steve says when it’s time for the wedding wows. “I pretended really hard to look like I did, because I’m actually fucking horrible at speeches that aren’t supposed to be patriotic.”

Bucky has to bite his lip to hide his grin, but he’s not very successful. Somebody snickers in the audience.

“I’m good at some things, though,” Steve continues, holding Bucky’s hands and rubbing them with his warm thumbs. “I make a mean stir-fry, and I know how to dress very blandly so that your outfits look even better when compared to mine. I know how you take your coffee, and I give great foot rubs after you’ve been on shift for who-knows-how-long. I usually know what to say when you’re having a shitty day, and I really, really think I’m superb at loving the hell out of you, Buck.”

He lets go of one of Bucky’s hands to reach out and cup Bucky’s face. Bucky’s definitely not fucking crying.

“I can’t tell the story of how I ended up proposing to you, because it’s not suitable for public,” Steve says, and uses his stupid thumb to wipe off the wetness under Bucky’s eye. There’s some muffled laughter from the seats, and Sam sniffles audibly somewhere behind Steve. “But now I feel like a goddamn idiot for not doing it sooner. You’re it for me, doll, and I’ll be the happiest motherfucker in this universe to look like a mock hipster if it makes you shine.”

“You fucker,” Bucky says, and if his voice breaks a little, it’s his own goddamn wedding and everybody who laughs at him can go fuck a cactus and not enjoy it. “I had a speech, but you’re gonna make me sound like a fucking tool, so nevermind. I love you, even if you are terrible at taking care of yourself, and you leave dirty socks all over the bedroom floor, and I can’t wait to yell at you for being a reckless shit for the rest of our lives. Marry me already, asshole.”

Steve leans in and kisses him, and then just keeps kissing him until the clerk clears his throat, looking like he’s trying to hold his laughter. Clint, Ivan, and Alice are bawling audibly in the audience.

They get married. Bucky definitely cries.

It’s fucking incredible.


At the reception, Mom wants to give a speech. Bucky’s fearing for his life before she’s even gotten the microphone in her hand.

“Bucky was a terrible child, who grew up into a terrible adult,” Mom says into the mic. She might be drunk, but she also just might be her awful self; Bucky can’t tell. “And I have no fucking idea where he learnt to swear like that.”

The crowd snickers; Becca and Alice do an olympic-level perfectly-synchronized eyeroll.

“But that terrible adult also went to fight a war that wasn’t his to pick up, and then went to make the world better by every patient he’s patched up,” Mom continues. “He’s insufferable and incredible, and I am so, so proud that he’s my son. I love him more than I love Brad Pitt, and everybody should know that it’s a whole fucking lot.”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand under the table. Bucky didn’t even realize that he’s tearing up again. Fuck.

“Steve,” Mom says and turns to him, trying to squint threateningly but failing, because she’s smiling so hard. “If there’s one guy that would deserve my Bucky, it’s you, because you’re the second most infuriating son of a bitch I have ever met, and he’s the first. Welcome to the family, buttercup.” She raises her glass. Yup, she’s definitely a little drunk. Bucky’s dad is gazing her with the exact same fed-up fondness Bucky feels about Steve. “To Bucky and Steve.”

The other guests raise their glasses in toast. Clint is laughing through his tears. Bucky feels for him.

Steve leans to rest his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder, shaking with silent laughter, but his eyes are shiny and wet when he looks up. Yeah, Bucky thinks. I fucking love him more than Brad Pitt, too.


The party is long and full of laughter and more or less inappropriate jokes. Mom gets drunk with Wanda, Clint, and Natasha, and tells racy stories about her youth in Indiana in the corner of the room, while Dad just rolls his eyes in exasperation and keeps talking about weird history facts with Thor. Sam’s flirting outrageously with both Ivan and Leah, and Bucky can already see him subtly shouldering his way into the nature documentary nights. It’s not a bad scenario; Sam is awesome.

Vision compliments the cake. Bucky’s not sure whether he’s doing it because it’s expected of him, or because he’s somehow downloaded a resentment add-on.

Bucky takes a photo of their hands with the wedding rings and posts it on Instagram without a comment. It gets half a million likes in fifteen minutes.

Steve, the little shit, has secretly taken dance classes, and instead of having two left feet, he waltzes Bucky across the room like a dorito-shaped Fred Astaire. Bucky almost pretends that he’s not impressed, but the truth is that it’s an incredibly sweet gesture and deserves at least twelve nice, long kisses of appreciation.

Steve’s also sending him some seriously heated looks across the room when they’re not together, and by the time the last guests leave, Bucky’s pretty much half-hard in his fancy tux pants. As they wave after Sam’s car, Steve presses up against Bucky’s back and grinds what seems to be a fairly impressive boner to Bucky’s ass.

“I’ve been waiting to get you out of this suit for hours,” Steve murmurs. “Wanna take this party upstairs?”

Bucky turns in Steve’s hold, winds his arms around Steve’s neck and leans up to kiss him. “Thought you’d never ask, baby.”

Steve hoists him up in a goddamn bridal carry like Bucky weighs nothing, and carries him upstairs to the bedroom. Steve takes off his own jacket and vest, and proceeds to peel the tux off Bucky with reverence, like he’s unwrapping a present; carefully hanging up the jacket, the vest, the shirt; pressing kisses on the revealed skin. When his fingers dip under the waistline of Bucky’s pants, Steve stills, his fingertips brushing the lace of Bucky’s underwear.

“Is this what I think this is?” he asks in a low voice, and Bucky rolls his shoulders, tips his head to the side to make way for Steve’s kisses.

“It’s something blue,” Bucky says smugly, a little breathless, and Steve curses, thumbs open the button of the trousers and slides them down, until Bucky can step out of fabric pooling around his ankles.

“Fucking hell,” Steve says, pupils blown wide as he takes in the royal blue panties Bucky’s wearing. He cups Bucky’s ass and pulls their groins together, making Bucky gasp. “Are you gonna kill me for my money before we’ve been married even for a single day?”

“Just a little,” Bucky replies, and Steve curses again, picks him up and backs them up until Bucky’s back is pressed against the wall.

“You fucking menace,” Steve murmurs fondly. “Here’s the plan, doll: I’m gonna make you come in your pretty underwear so that you’ll be nice and pliant, and you’re gonna take it and look gorgeous.” He thinks for a bit. “Okay, as nice as you can get.”

“I like a man with a plan,” Bucky agrees, hooks his legs behind Steve’s back and rolls his hips. “But if you fucking ruin my lingerie, I’m never buying more again.” The threat might be a little weak thanks to his heavy breathing and the flush he can feel spreading down from his cheeks to his chest.

Steve kisses him, first hard and then softer; chaste little pecks, oddly sweet after the filth he was just spewing. “Guess I just have to get you more,” he says, supporting Bucky’s weight easily, his familiar bulk solid and warm through the clothes he’s still wearing.

“I can get behind that solution,” Bucky says. “Wait, can you still be my sugar daddy if we’re married?”

Steve pinches his ass, making him yelp. “Shush, asshole.”

Bucky frames Steve’s stupid, handsome face and kisses him again, just for the joy of it. There’s something warm and content inside him, and it sure as hell isn’t some goddamn fever-dream fetus, but plain old happiness.

”I know that the rings don’t really change anything about you and me,” Steve says between the kisses, his eyes soft and crinkled with joy. “But hell, Bucky, I’m glad you said yes.”

Bucky slides his hands into Steve’s messy hair. “Me too, honey,” he says softly, honestly. “Besides, I got diamonds out of it.”

Steve bites his tongue a little in revenge. Being married is pretty nice.